


To Drink Tea With A Fox Lady.

by CescaLR



Series: The Time After Everything (Season 4 AU) [4]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: (its a meaningful part of the interaction alright?), (we all know who that is tagged for.), Adderall Abuse, F/M, Gen, Kay?, Nogitsune Effects, Season 4 AU, Tea, alluded to terrible 'eating' habits., as in the drink, stalia - background, stiles is something, the pack likes to swim in denial.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-19
Updated: 2016-07-19
Packaged: 2018-07-25 09:55:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7528174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CescaLR/pseuds/CescaLR
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Malia's out with the other girls in the pack, Scott hasn't spoke to him since the, ah, conversation, who knows what the runt (i.e. Liam) is up to, and he's found himself without anything to do to put this off any longer. It's time to see a fox about a nogitsune. (And what it means to have effects after being possessed by one.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Drink Tea With A Fox Lady.

That morning when Stiles wakes up, Malia’s left him a note. He reads it, mulling over the words and chuckling at her phrasing, the quotation marks around _‘girls’ day out’_ and her distaste for the whole idea. (Apparently, Lydia decided for the rest of the girls that they were _going_ to go have a day to themselves, go shopping watch movies, go to the spa, etc.) But still, since it was Lydia who came up with it, well.

Who says _no_ to _Lydia Martin?_

Heh. Yeah, thought so. (Assuming you agree no-one does, that is.)

So anyway.

Stiles figured now is as good a time as any – 11 o’clock on a Saturday – to start confronting some of his problems…

Head on.

(So he does. Gets ready, ‘eats’ breakfast, takes some (read: more than recommended) Adderall, gets in the jeep. Drives.

He drives to the Yukimura’s.)

* * *

 

Stiles thanks whatever lucky stars are in existence and many other possible factors that only Mrs. Yukimura, _Noshiko,_ is at home right now. (He knows why Kira isn’t there, but he honestly does not care why Mr. Yukimura isn’t. It doesn’t matter, all that matters is that they aren’t present.)

When kira’s mother, _the fox,_ opens the door, he sees surprise on her face for a split second.

Or. Well. He _feels_ the surprise like a shock of electricity, which seems fitting, the confusion like a brief wave of nausea, and the biting edge of being frustrated at yourself; she apparently isn’t used to being caught off-guard.

She stares at him, for a few moments, then steps aside, and he enters at the unspoken invitation.

For a while, they just stand there in the hallway, Stiles feeling awkwardly out of place and Noshiko – _Mrs. Yukimura,_ she feels like the waves of frustration on a stormy day. He waits, and they calm, and she leads him to the kitchen. She proceeds to make tea for the both of them, gestures for him to sit in the living room; for him to wait patiently.

So he does. (The lady – the _fox,_ she’s over 900 years old. Listen to your ancient, sorta-powerful, actually-wanted-to-murder-you elders. Well. Not him, specifically. _Him,_ not him, if that makes sense.)

She brings the tea over, places it in front of him and he stares, stone faced and blank eyed, into the cup. She sits, crosses one leg over the other and sips from her tea, patiently waits to hear his reasons for coming. He licks his lips, pauses in nervousness, and begins.

“You said – four weeks ago, now, you said, and I quote, ‘More you than nogitsune’.” He breaks off, pauses, and chews on his lip for a second. “What – What, exactly, did you mean by that. Aside from the obvious. Please don’t say ‘what it sounds like’, because then you’d be about as helpful as Deaton is at the best of times, and no-one wants that. Except maybe Deaton. Um. I’m – I’m gonna shut up now.” He shifts, restless, and starts tapping that rhythm, that stupid, _freakin’_ rhythm, the one he knows yet doesn’t, and her gaze snaps to it, to his fingers tap-tap- _tapping_ on her couch cushions.

He stills his hand, a violent jerk of an aborted movement, and his foot starts tapping, his leg bounces and he gives up on being still.

(Hell, maybe he’s developed a higher tolerance to Adderall. He’s not sure if that’s a thing you can do but – but well. It doesn’t seem to be as effective anymore. Even when he _technically,_ technically overdoses. He means, he doesn’t O.D., considering he’d be dead if he did – he’s not even sure if you can, from Adderall, but he’s never risked it he doesn’t think.)

(He’ll research it later.)

Belatedly, he realised she was waiting for him to continue. “So. So, uh. So – I, I’d like to know, you know, what you – what you implied, by that, aside from the obvious and it’d be a great help if you could tell me. Uh. Yeah.”

She sighed, and placed down her cup, the tea finished and it empty. His was still full. “Drink,” She commanded, and he lifted the cup and drank from it, grimacing at the taste but swallowing anyway. She nodded, pleased, and glared at the cushion he’d tapped before as if it personally had offended her. “I mean what I said. That nogisune is trapped, but there are effects from a fox possession… that you were not showing. In fact, some of your side effects were the opposite to what should have been. You lost the ability to read; yet you should have instantly learned Japanese, if you did not already speak it. You were dying, that much is true, but from what I remember of fox possessions that is not supposed to be the case. And also… you are male. Which is an… odd, decision of host, considering foxes tend to possess women. But then, this nogitsune, it chose – chose a man over a kitsune to possess, so maybe it was simple personal preference. I am… unsure. The rules are not rigid in the supernatural world, compared to your human science. Ever fluctuating, ever changing. Maybe six, three hundred years ago what I describe was true, but maybe now what you experienced is true for a fox possession... of that type. So you asked, and I will answer. I have heard… rumours, in my time in this town. A spark, they say, a spark in beacon hills. And I wonder… would that be enough to keep at least some of the fox? So, yes. As far as I can tell you are no longer kin, yet… there is something. There is always something.”

He lowers his cup, and she glares at him. “Drink.” She commands again, and, reluctantly, he finishes the tea, sits in silence with her unnerving gaze focused on him. Stiles shifts, and speaks. “I – I have, a… theory, and I’d like for you to listen. Um. So, okay, there was a reason I was susceptible to the nogitsune, right?” He paused long enough for her to realise he’d asked a question. “… As far as I understand, anyone is susceptible to possession. Yes, some more than others but from what I have heard…” She paused, considering her next words, carefully mulling over what to say. “… a spark ignites power. A void… it absorbs. Another name for nogitsune is void kitsune… but if you are having after effects… well, I see no sense in that. The nogitsune would have been able to tap into any of your abilities… using its own would have blown it’s cover; ruined it’s trick.” He blinked at her. “Why?” she took the cup from his hands, gently unwrapping his white-knuckled fingers from the handle and the cup itself. She placed it down, on the mat, and looked at him, assessing, for a few moments. “When someone is possessed – whether it be by an outside force or their own nature, or uses too much power for their body to handle, their eyes go white. It can be their own power, or power they gained from outside sources, but it still, generally, follows that rule. The person or being whose eyes glow white usually experience a burning sensation; for the power is being released through their eyes, the excess is being expelled from their body.” She clasps her hands in her lap and sends her unnerving stare towards his, one tapping the rhythm and the other clenched on the couch cushion. “You remember.” She states, because they both know he does even if he’s never told her, even if he’s never truly told anyone, not even Malia (though she figured it out, she knew, some kind of sense of empathy letting her know he did remember, even if he never explicitly said so.). He nods in confirmation anyway, and she continues. “Do you remember burning?” “No.” He replies, for the first time truthfully, about what he remembers. “No, I don’t.” She nods, a calculating gaze looking over him. She nods, having come to a decision about… something. No- _Mrs. **Yukimura,**_ she walks over to a cabinet, and for the first time he notices the pull he’s felt towards it since he got within a few yards of her house. Stiles stares, warily, at the cabinet, with a feeling that he knows what’s in there. She opens it, and removes the false back, revealing brickwork. He notices, though he shouldn’t from this distance, Stiles notices four bricks that are ever so slightly off in colour, the tiniest bit extended out of the wall. He shifts, unconsciously moving towards the cabinet, whilst still staying on the couch.

He leans forward, and murmurs, “I’m not gonna lie, I don’t think this is a very wise move, - uh, Mrs. Yukimura.” If she noticed he stumbled over what to call her, she didn’t call him out on it. Instead, she seemingly ignored him, and removed the four bricks – top left, top right, bottom right, bottom left – systematically, to reveal a specific wood box, made from a tree he knew too well and containing a creature he’s not ashamed to admit he’s terrified of.

(It can bring out the worst of him.)

She pauses, and looks back at him. “There is one way to check.” She says, and for a second he feels a flash of concern, warmth quickly smothered by years of practice. “That is, if you are ready.” He stares at the box, half out of his seat in a trance before he remembers himself and snaps out of it. “Not yet.” He manages, and plonks himself forcefully down on the armchair he was next to. She, _Noshiko,_ nodded, and sat near him on the couch, the closest corner she could get. “You remember more than what you did, don’t you?” and he nods, concentrating too much on not going to the cabinet and removing the bricks to give any kind of proper response. She nods, and says “You have some habits you didn’t before, now, don’t you?” and he nods again, and murmurs, “They’re easily suppressible though. I only wake up at five am, ready for another day in the… the _camp,_ every few days now. And, and even if I think of pulling some dangerous pranks, I can stop myself before I’m even half way through the planning stage.” He sighed, and continued. “But I can’t stop myself from angry outbursts all the time, and as you’ve noticed I really cannot stop myself from tapping the stupid rhythm on any available surface, and going over riddles in my head’s become a way to pass the time. I do pull... I play tricks more often than I used to, though I never take credit. And…” Here, he hesitated, because he was about to approach a topic he’s avoided since – since forever, really. Since he _manipulated_ the mountain ash, since he smashed a baseball bat to smithereens with hardly any build in the swing, since he’s done a lot of things, like holding the dead weight of a paralyzed adult with insane muscle mass (seriously, it’s ridiculous.) _and,_ to top it all off, for two hours and fully clothed (which _does_ weigh you down, like, a lot) with shoes and everything.

So yeah. He’s avoided. (Never really called himself human. Avoided it with deflections or sarcasm. Or allusions with double meanings.)

She gave him some time to collect his thoughts, and for that he’s grateful.

Finally, he started to talk. By now, it was midday, the sun high in the sky. The contrast the weather made with the topic of conversation means something, he’s sure, but maybe some gloomy weather, you know, pathetic fallacy, would be good. (Or not. Because then Kira would have to come home, and. Well. He’s not too sure how he’d – they’d, explain his presence.

“I can feed off of emotions.” He said, quietly, a sharp contrast to his usually loud and in-your-face personality. “The stronger the easier, some I don’t even need contact for anymore. In the beginning, it was – it was only negative ones… and chaos, strife, pain. You know, the usual buffet. Emotions started bleeding in right around the time I started sensing them properly.” ( _I eat what you feel… and I’m **insatiable.)**_ He cleared his throat, and blinked the remnants of the memory of Oak Creek from his vision. While he was dazed and guilty, horribly, horribly guilty feeling for the… _undertones…_ of that particular nogitsune event, Noshiko went to the kitchen, taking the cups with her. A few minutes later she returned, more tea in hand, and sat, ready for him to continue now he’d pulled himself together. Stiles nods his thanks, and does so.

“My… my senses are better than they were, before. Though even then I could hear Lydia’s scream… so. I don’t – I haven’t really wanted to think about what that means. And I _am_ stronger, at times, much – much like before, but it happens more often and gets triggered by strong emotion. Anger, mainly, but fear as well. Any strong emotion, or bad situation, but those two raise my strength the most.” “Much like before?” She questions, none too gently, and he replies. “Smashing baseball bats into smithereens and holding an adult, alpha, paralysed werewolf up for two hours in water. Not exactly the most normal of things to be able to do.” “If you count the times when possessed, how many more examples of… something, do you have up your sleeve?” He stared at the tea, going cold, forgotten on the mats. “A lot.” He manages, and feels a strong, _strong_ pull towards the cabinet. He’s out of his seat before he realises it, half turned towards the cabinet. “My family will not be here next Sunday.” She states, and he takes it for the dismissal and invitation it is.

(He’s not ready.)

“We’ll see how you do after a week, and I will see if we can find a way to schedule these meetings. I have… a feeling, that they will become necessary, if I am to help you with the after effects of possession. It is, after all, the least I can do.” He nods, already on his way out and says, sincerely; “Thank you, N-Mrs. Yukimura.” She nods, ignores his slip up, and follows him to the door. He leaves, and she watches him, until the blue jeep is but a speck in the distance.

She’s not quite sure what she’s offered, and she’s not quite sure how this will turn out, but it is obvious he is not getting the help he requires, because it is obvious he and his friends are all trying to pretend what has happened, never did.

(She’s hoping, that in helping the previously possessed teen, she may make up for the wrong she did in inviting the nogitsune here, to beacon hills, in the first place.)

The fox lady turns, walks down the hall, and dials a number in her telephone. It rings for a minute, and is picked up. “Hello?” a voice, clear and slightly confused, hidden by a stoic calm but if she’s learned anything in her nine hundred years it’s how to see through masks, disguises, even if she can only hear a voice, answers. “Hello Deaton.” She says calmly, and hears the surprise in his silence. “I would like to speak with you.” A pause, then a reply. “On what topic, in what… line of work?” “I will be straight with you now, Emissary, kitsune to druid. We need to talk of the Spark, the one who has Void ‘round his heart; the one who absorbs power, ignites it, and has an endless supply of space for it, because the Void is never sated. And a spark, well. They burn _everything._ He _is_ dangerous, Emissary, and you are not doing your job by ignoring that.” Another, longer, pause. “Alright.” Deaton replies. “As you wish. When, and where, will this meeting be held?” “At my home, on Sunday. Do _not_ be late, Druid. In fact, be early.” She can almost hear his nod, in the way the static crackles across the connection. “Of course.” He finishes, and states a quick, “Goodbye, Mrs. Yukimura.” And she replies. “Deaton.”. She puts the phone back down, listens to the click and the sound of a call being shut off, and sighs. Moving gracefully to the living room, she sits on the couch, and picks up her tea. Taking a sip, she ignores the coldness of it, and ponders, staring at the Cabinet.

This is how Kira finds her when she gets back home, a huge smile on her face, hair and makeup done just right, a new outfit on her person and bags and _bags_ worth of shopping. “Today was great,” she chirped, and plopped herself on the couch next to her mother. The smile dropped as she noticed her mom’s expression, the two, cold, unfinished cups of tea on the table. The way she was staring at the cabinet with the false back, the one which shouldn’t be open but is, and she registers the two mats and the wrinkles in the armchair cushions. “Mom?” she questioned, quietly, concerned. “You alright?” Mrs. Yukimura nodded, absently, and went to pick up the tea cups. “Would you close the cabinet? I shall deal  with the tea.” The older kitsune left the room, and with a sigh and a feeling of wariness, Kira quickly put the cabinet back together. She wondered why it was open in the first place, but the box hadn’t been moved so she figured her mother was just checking up on it.

(That didn’t explain the armchair being a bit lower into the floor than usual, and the two mats, and the messy arrangement of the cushions, but she figured it wasn’t her business. Besides, like everyone else she was happy swimming in denial.)

(Later, she found a tea cup with groves that look like finger marks, dents in the cup. She throws it out and pretends that she didn’t see anything.

After all, it can’t be too serious, right?)

* * *

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> So it looks like I've committed myself to this AU thing, don't it? This is a very different, entire-one-shot length version of the old Noshiko & Stiles interaction. Also put Kira in there for funsies. Wha'd'you think?


End file.
